The Truth
by TheFandomVortex
Summary: The loneliest people the the kindest, the saddest people smile the brightest, the most damaged people are the wisest, all because they don't wish to see anyone else suffer the way they did. These are the truths of Russia, Italy, England and America. See what they sacrifice to make their loved one's happy. T for Romano in later chapters.
1. Chapter I: The Saddest People

**A/N: Hello everyone! I am The Fandom Vortex! Now this is my first non-reader insert so if the story line is at all crappy please let me know in a way that does not completely crush my hopes of writing good fan fiction.**

**Anyway I'm really excited to hear your reactions and please Review! This will be in Normal PoV. Also, this is only the first chapter. There will be 3 more, and only three. The first one will be Italy, then Russia, then England, and lastly, America. This was inspired by the picture, Truth by Liettore on DA.**

**Warning: I do not own Hetalia**

_**The Truth **_

_**Chapter I: The Saddest People Smile the Brightest**_

Italy opened his honey colored eyes finding himself in his bed. His auburn hair was sprawled out on the pillow below his head, cushioning it. The one stubborn curl that lay beside him was disguised behind the other strands of hair. Italy's mind traveled back to last night. His dreams were riddled with the scenes of war and blood. That was the price he payed for such a long life.

Italy didn't want to get up today. It was like this every day. The struggle to get out of bed was worse today because not only did he have to fake his attitude around Doitsu, now he had to fake it to the world.

Then, he remembered why he did this.

If he wasn't the one wearing the brightest smiles, then who would? Sure he looked like he had no idea what the world held and he was a mindless child, but who else would be the one to cheer everyone up?

One thing no one has ever stopped to think about is his age. He was older than Germany and Japan, yet their attitude seemed to be the polar opposite of theirs. No one asked him, why? Why did he act this way? Why does it seem that he knew nothing about the world when he had seen more than he let's on?

He did this because, no one should have to feel sad. No one should be depressed. No one should have to feel the pain he felt. Italy knew regardless that they had all experienced this, but not like he did.

Every day they come back from war, he will be there with a bright smile, welcoming them home with a hug and praises.

Italy never had this luxury.

When he came home from war, there were no happiness. There were no warm arms. There were no comforting words. He was lost in pain and suffering that he and his country endured. Only to have to shove it deep down in his heart and brighten his mood, to welcome the rest that will walk through the door, while the pain embedded in his soul grows larger and larger. It leaves scars and makes it harder to keep up the act, but he does.

Italy never had, and probably never will have a shoulder to cry on after war. Someone to sooth him and... and thank him. Thank him for being who he was around everyone else. Thank him for the smiles, the jokes, the laughs, the comfort. Italy was never meant to have this. He was meant to give. And give is what he did. And take is what everyone else was meant to do. And take is what they did.

Finally, Italy got out of the messy sheets. He wobbled to his mirror and stared at the lifeless, honey eyes that greeted him.

Italy did a scan over of his body. A thin, lithe body. Not too fat, not too thin. Lightly tanned skin. Not one imperfection scared it. Soft, gleaming, auburn hair. No gray hairs or frizz invaded the straight, cascading strands. His eyes. His eyes that were supposedly the windows to the soul. The light honey shade was darkened, awaiting him to put the playful gleam in them. He took a deep sigh, closing his eyes.

When he let the breath out, his eyes did not open again. His weary frown turned into a bright, life-filled smile. His curl bounced with happiness. Now he was ready.

~~~~~~~~~~Time Skip~~~~~~~~~~

The World Conference was being held in Germany today. Italy climbed out of his rental car and closed the door. He gazed up at the rustic looking building. Few cars were parked outside. The meeting wasn't supposed to start in another 30 minutes, but Germany would get mad if he was late again.

Italy walked up to large, looming, double doors. He let his smile falter for a split second. He scolded himself. _Idiota. What if someone saw? What if someone was standing there staring at you!? Never again! Smile!_ Italy's body obeyed the order his mind gave it and smiled brightly.

As he pushed the doors open, he saw the front lobby. It was elegant. Paintings of great military leaders lined the walls. The furniture was hand crafted. Each detail expertly done with patience and persistence. Italy let the welcoming feel seep in. He was not the least bit surprised. Germany would want no less for his guests.

Italy walked down the red rug. The edges were embedded with fancy gold threaded designs. He walked down the hall until he was faced with two more doors. Italy took a deep breath, smiled and walked in.

The people already present were Germany, of coarse, Japan, England, America, and France. Everyone turned to look at the arriving guest. Germany gave a slight smile and nod of approval. Japan simply stared and bowed polity. England looked in shock along with America and France. Italy decided to break the silence.

"Ciao everyone!"Italy spoke in his high-pitched, bubbly voice.

"Guten tag Italien," Germany replied, sounding pleased. "Jou have certainly surprised everyone here vith your earliness."

"Si, I guess I have! Ve~," Italy replied, taking his seat next to Germany and Japan.

~~~~~~~~~~Later~~~~~~~~~~

Everyone has arrived. America was shouting about how he's the hero. England was trying to fight off France while trying to shut up America. France was bugging England. Canada sat beside America's seat, forgotten, hugging his bear tightly. Russia was casting out a dark aura across the room with an innocent smile plastered on his face. China was complaining about how "Western nations are so immature." Greece slept, covered in cats. Turkey was trying to pick a fight with Greece. Switzerland was polishing his gun. Liechtenstein was sitting next to Switzerland. Austria was enjoying a cup of tea. Hungary was beating Prussia over the head with a frying pan. Prussia was trying to invade Hungary's vital regions. Germany was getting annoyed by the loud noises. Japan sat quietly, reading the atmosphere. And Italy sat in the middle of the monthly chaos that rattled in the building, a soft smile on his face. He glanced over at Germany and his smile tuned into a scared frown. Italy knew that face Germany was making. Germany was pissed and was about to shout for order. Hastily, Italy covered his ears. Germany was really loud if you were sitting next to him. Last time Italy had forgotten to cover his ears, he went def for two months.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!"The entire conference room quietened at the rattling sound of Germany booming voice. All eyes rested on The blond German man. His blue eyes shone with annoyance and rage. Once again, everyone took their place at the table and Germany continued.

"Now then, ve shall go on vith zis meeting vithout any further outbursts of violence," Germany declared.

~~~~~~~~~~Later again~~~~~~~~~~

Italy followed Germany out of the building, his bright smile still shining.

"I can't believe I let it get out of control today," Germany muttered, running his hands through his slicked back, blond hair.

Italy let his eyes open for the first time today. "How could you say that Doitsu!? You were an excellent host and you got everyone back on track again!" he cooed, smiling again, letting his eyes close again. "Not only did you handle today's conference, but you also take charge of all of the other World Meetings! You should be proud of yourself!"

"Ja, I guess jou are right." The stoic German let a small smile crease his lips and look down and the auburn haired Italian with grateful eyes. "Danke, Italien."

"Anytime Doitsu!"Italy replied stopping. He watched as the German walked away to his car. A smile of satisfaction slipped onto his face. His eyes opened, looking at Germany and repeated the word, "anytime."


	2. Chapter II: The Loneliest People

**A/N: Hello everyone! I am the Fandom Vortex! I'm here with the next installment of The Truth! What's that? I didn't get any reviews yet? WHO CARES!? I LIKE THIS AND I WILL DO THIS! YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! Anyway! This is Russia's. Some of you are wondering, why did you do Italy first then Russia rather than doing it in numerical order? That's because I was more into writing Italy's story because I was used to how to write him in his deepest thoughts. I was simply more comfortable writing Italy's. I wanted to see how his would turn out rather than jumping into a whole different person and have it turn out crappy. So, enjoy Russia's story!**

**Warning! I don't own hetalia! Also, Romano is present.**

_**The Truth**_

_**Chapter II: The Loneliest People are the Kindest**_

Russia awoke to nothing. His platinum hair was scattered across the cold pillow. He lay in bed with his usual clothes on and an empty bottle of vodka on his night stand. His pale skin was cold to the touch. His shoulders broad and muscles strong. You would expect no less from the Siberian country. His violet eyes shined with tears. One would wonder why he was crying. There was nothing hurting him. He was alone.

But that's the catch.

Russia was utterly alone. He rolled to his side and looked out to where the door was. For once, he wanted to have someone who cared enough to visit come through that door and ask him, "How are you?" or, "Did you sleep well?" Yet, no matter how hard he wished for it to happen, his wishes never came true.

Russia rolled back onto his back. He covered his eyes with his arm, letting crystal clear tears run down his soft, snow white cheeks. The pure tears stained the light tan fabric of his uniform. The occasional sob tore through his lungs and out of his mouth. Not like anyone would hear.

Russia let his mind wander back to his dreams. They were bright. Pleasant and happy. They were of old times of the Soviet Union. Everyone lived in the same house. Everyone was happy. Everyone enjoyed being with him. In his house, no one feared him No one hated him. No one wanted to hurt him. Latvia wouldn't shake in fear. Lithuania would smile more often than not. Estonia would engage in friendly conversations with him. Belarus was supportive and not creepy at all. Ukraine was just the same, but she didn't run. She would stay and care for him. Everyone loved him. They were a family. They were happy. He was happy. Russia let a life-filled smile grace his face.

Then it dropped once he let his eyes look around the room. Darkness. Darkness everywhere. Oh how he felt alone. The rooms of this large and empty house no longer held the light they did back then. Now, it was depressing. The wall paper peeled. The tile was crummy. There were cracks everywhere, showing age and Russia's refusal to care for the old house. Everything was coated in dust. That's why Russia never bothered to take off his boots when he entered his house.

Russia had long given up on trying to have the Baltic States stay at his house. They would only cower in fear and obey his every command with shaky, "Yes, Sir"'s. All he wanted was a friend. Then again, he was supposed to be cold. Unforgiving. Uncaring like the blasted blizzards that raged on outside during the winter months. But no one had thought to look deeper.

Russia struggled to get out of bed. Once he did, he only ran his thick fingers through his silky, silver hair and readjusted his clothes before he left the rundown house once more to go to The World Conference in Italy.

~Later~

When Russia came upon the building that the world meeting was going to be held in, he sighed. Russia put on a smile and promised to be kind to everyone he came across, even though he knew they would only run away in fear.

Why was it every time he said, "Become one with Mother Russia!," everyone took it as a threat? He was only welcoming them into his house, offering warmth, comfort, love, and company. He was only saying, "I'll give you company! You wont be alone!" Of course, no one ever took it this way. It was always, "Oh no! Russia is going to invade me!" But that was never what he wanted. He just wanted everyone to have a friend, even when he didn't.

Snapping back into reality, Russia walked up to the rustic building. Entering, he saw the lobby. The receptionist shivered when he entered. He didn't know why, but he always had to cast a dark aura everywhere he went, without meaning to. Smiling sweetly, the Russian entered the room.

Not a single head had to turn to the door to see who had entered. Everyone knew when cold winds made contact with their skin that Russia had arrived. Smiling, Russia took his seat next to China.

The last people to arrive were Spain, Italy and Romano. The Italy's excuse was that they were sleeping. Typical. The blond haired German simply growled and ordered the Northern half to sit. Romano growled at the Germans response and spat out several curses like "damn potato bastard" and "fuck ass." Russia chuckled at the Southern nations childish acts mixed with adult language.

Spain said that he was trying to wake Romano and Italy. Romano simply spat out a "Fuck you tomato bastard!" while Italy giggled cutely at Romano.

"Vhatever. Let's start the meeting now," Germany declared, not giving the Italians a chance to take hold of the Conference

~Later~

When the conference had ended, the nations scattered. Russia was the last to leave as usual.

Or so he thought.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw China sitting in his seat, looking gloomy. This pierced Russia's heart to the core as he approached the old nation.

"China, what is the meaning of your gloomy attitude? It's unfitting of such a wise dragon!" Russia chuckled at his own use of words. He hoped the mention of his own culture would brighten the Asian's spirits.

"Do you ever feel lonely aru?" China asked abruptly. This question made Russia drop his smile and let his demeanor turn sullen.

"Da. I do. But how about you? You have a big family that care's for you. Surely you can't be alone," the Russian stated. Curiosity tainted his thick Russian accent. He was truly concerned now.

"I just can seem to find anyone to vent to aru! My siblings are nice and all but they never appreciate the wisdom I have over my long years." Now the Russian understood. He nodded and said, "Don't worry. Maybe they don't need the wisdom now. But soon enough, they will be in a conflict they have never faced before and they will need your help to solve it."

China chuckled. "Sometimes aru, I wonder if you are older than me!" The Chinese man stood and nodded to Russia. "Thanks aru."

"No problem! Just know that you can come over and vent anytime da?" Russia asked hopefully.

China nodded. "Aiya aru. I'll be sure to visit!" he said before running after his fellow brethren.

Russia smiled. His eyes softened and tears of joy leaked down his cheeks. He nodded and said, "Da... Anytime."


	3. Chapter III: The Most Damaged People

**A/N: Hello everyone! I'm the Fandom Vortex! I know I didn't post yesterday but, school has to come first! Ya know what I mean?**

**ANYwah. This is Iggy's chapter. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo lets get-**

**England: HOLD IT!**

**Iggy dude what do you want?**

**England: You had some sort of announcement to make?**

**Wat?**

**England: *sigh* about the story.**

**Oh right! Thanks bruh! What England is reminding me about is that, *dramatic pause* THERE WILL BE A SEAQUAIL! It wont be about one particular character, but about all of them! So, be sure to keep an eye out fur that! (heh, sea quail...)**

**Warning! I do not own hetalia. England, America, and Romano's potty mouths!**

_**The Truth**_

_**Chapter 3: The Most Damaged People are the Wisest**_

England awoke with a white ceiling greeting him. His limbs were sprawled about the bed, tangled up in an unorganized mess of pale flesh and silky white sheets. England's emerald eyes shined, contradicting his shadow laced thoughts. The bright blond hair lost it's shine somewhere in the past.

England's vision blurred as tears more bitter than any of the seas he has traveled blurred his sight. The cursed dreams of memories past taunted at his mind, fighting for attention and reactions. He sniffed and took a long look around at his room.

The entire house had a Victorian feel to it. The wooden legs of his bed and all the other furniture in his house were embossed in intricate designs and patterns. The rugs were red with gold threading surrounding the outer edge. Lamps replaced ceiling fans but of coarse they were electrical. His walls were lined with portraits of famous English leaders and scientists such as Newton and King George. The walls also had old relics hanging delicately on the vertical surface. A pair of swords that crossed each other had many nicks in them and were rusty. They reminded him of his pirate years against Spain and beating his sorry ass.

Only things that held pleasant memories were allowed onto his walls. Like for instance, you would not find a British gun hanging around. The memories were great and painful.

England suppressed a sorrowful sob on the thought of the old relic. He did not want to dwell on the subject, but almost as if on Que, a vision arose in the Englishman's mind that he could not escape. No matter how hard he tried.

England saw a little boy in a flowing white dress like thing with a red ribbon tied neatly around the neck, not choking the child. His dirty blond hair fluttered in the wind along with the long strands of grass that covered the brown soil beneath. There was a tiny, stubborn strand of hair that stood out, resisting the natural way that hair was supposed to fall. His sky blue eyes matched the ever stretching canvas of blue above him. The toddler's arms were resting beside him as his wide eyes gazed upwards towards the clouds, as if he was expecting something to happen. Then the image changed. It was the same landscape, but the young boy had grown up. He was now somewhere around 10. He now had glasses perched on his nose. The glass distorted the clear blue eyes that the toddler had. The boy was wearing a tan, button up shirt with a brown coat. He wore a darker tan suspenders and black dress shoes. Now the boy held a book in his left hand and a feather pen in his right. Once again, the scene changed to the same field and sky and the boy had once more, changed. He was taller now. He looked youthful. It could be seen by anyone, he was a teenager. He wore a Revolutionary war suit. The white bands crossed over the royal blue coat that flapped in the soft breeze. The boy held a rifle with a baronet in his hand. The once beautiful, sky blue eyes were darkened with hatred. His teeth were clenched as his hand tightened around the guns barrel. Once more, the scene changed, but very little. Now, the teenager held the gun in his left hand and mast in his right. At the top was a fluttering flag. It had a blue box on the top left hand corner with a circle of stars in it. The rest of the flag were branded with 13 red stripes and 12 white ones. The boys face was brighter now. Back to its old state like when he was a child. He smiled broadly up at the sky. Pride radiated off of the boy. Now, the scene would change for the last time. The boy was now a man. He had a white collard shirt with a black tie. A beige jacket was buttoned over it but not all the way, letting the leftover fold over. The jacket surpassed the belt he had and there were four pockets. Two at the top of his jacket and two below the belt. He had beige pants that matched the jacket. He had a black belt that had one part that was slung over this left shoulder. He had am American Bomber Jacket with a star pin on the right. On the back was the number 50. He had a toothy grin on his face.

The scene played behind the closed eyelids of the Englishman. Tears flowed steadily down his cheeks, biting his lip to stop a choked sob tear through his throat. The tears stained the silk pillow that cushioned his head. His large eyebrows were furrowed as he forced the image to the back of his mind, knowing it will surface again.

England got up, tearing away from the softness of the sheets and into the chilly air that hung in his room. He stumbled to his wardrobe, still weary from the restless sleep he had last night. He gazed at all the clothes that he had and picked out his usual attire. He didn't even bother to comb his hair since the "I just got out of bed and I don't give a fuck" style is something he wore everyday. As England exited the room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Tiered eyes, messy hair, big ass eyebrows, regular uniform. He was normal to those who knew him, that's for sure. England proceeded to leave the house in a gentlemanly manner to attend to the World Conference that was being held in his country.

~Later~

England watched as the world practically piled into the meeting room. England sighed as the fighting started almost instantly. Romano spat out curses at Spain. Italy sat there and smiled. Germany and Japan ignored it. Russia crept everyone out and China put up with it. England started arguing with France and America screamed, "I'm the Hero Motherfuckers!" This made England groan in annoyance once he finally got the frog off his ass.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP! WE MUST GET ON WITH THE MEETING!"Germany shouted above the noise, cutting all of the other shouts off.

"Right Germany. I'm sorry that I let it get out of hand," England apologized, nodding at the German thankfully. "Anyway, lets get started."

~Later~

As England cleaned up the hectic mess that the other countries left in their wake, the blond felt a hand tap his shoulder.

"Hey, Iggy!"the voice intercepted eyebrow's thoughts. The sound of his former colony made England want to cry, but he had to keep a tough exterior. He had to stay strong, for him.

"What do you want America?" England replied after a moments hesitation. He did not letting emerald eyes meet with sky blue ones. 

"I was wondering if the hero could help you with that bro?"

England stopped and finally looked up at the North American country. He sighed, dropping his gaze. "Sure," he muttered out, and resumed cleaning the table with a washcloth.

America started picking up discarded papers that littered the ground. Something crossed the American's mind that made him stop and turn to England.

"England?" He asked softly.

"What?" England swerved around to face him, looking irritated but then stopped. Right when he saw America's face, all of his feelings dissolved into pity and concern. The American's face was downcast and sad, as if he was facing the biggest, most life changing decision of his life. America adverted his eyes away from England's gaze.

"I can't help but feel that Keeks doesn't like me all that well," the dirty blond said. "He always looks like I'm a bother and he doesn't want me around."

Now England truly felt bad. America was like a little brother to him, and to see him so out of it was a blow to his heart. With a sympathetic look, England spoke.

"Don't worry America. I'm sure Japan would of told you politely that you were making him uncomfortable. Don't jump to conclusions just because he doesn't show much emotion."

America smiled at this. "Thanks Iggy. You know, you are wiser that old China! Hehe! Later bro~!" And with that, America left.

England didn't scold him for leaving a jumble of papers on the floor. He only smiled and said in barely a whisper, "I learned that from you."


	4. Chapter IV: All Because

**A/N: Hey guys, I'm the Fandom Vortex!**

**So this is the last installment of THIS story but as said from the previous chapter, there will be a seaquail. I already have the title. It will be called, "A Secret Alliance." I hope you can stick around to see it!**

**Anywho, this is America's story and this one will start differently. America will already be up and out of bed so yeeeeeah.**

**Warning: Romano, America and England's language.**

_**The Truth**_

_**Chapter IV: All Because They Don't Want to see Anyone Suffer the way They did**_

America stood in front of the mirror, looking at the supposed "hero" before him.

_Like hell I'm a hero, _he thought glumly to himself. America knew that there was no such thing as a hero. In fact, he was far from this. He was obnoxious. He had no humility. He had hurt more people that he has helped. And worst of all, he lied to himself and everyone. Every time he screamed "I'm the Hero," he lied to the world. He broke England's heart, forgot his own twin more times than he could count, he sent his country into WWII without thinking of the consequences. Now that he brought up war, America thought of all the war's he should not of been included in. The Korean War and The Vietnam War for example.

"Like hell I'm a hero." The blond repeated the words out loud. He stood in front of the crystal surface that showed him who he really was. The Americans baby blue eyes were dull, the thick glasses were not helping. His hair was messy, sticking out every which way like his cowlick.

Why did he do this? Well, it was all very simple. He fucked up in the past and he sees that now. Now he is trying to be a hero to make up for it. No one should suffer the consequences of the same mistakes he had already made and could not take back now. Now all he could do was guide others to avoid the mistakes he made. But he failed at this. Miserably.

_Alfred F. Jones, _America thought. _I always say, F stands for Fucking Freedom. _He made an effort to chuckle, but failed. _Like hell it meant that. No freeman has the right to take away other countries freedom, trying to make them see your way with government. Then what _does_ F stand for?_ He had to think about this for a second. Then the word came to him. _Fraud_._ F stands for Fucking Fraud._

A loud knock broke America's chastisement of himself. He turned to the wooden door. On the other side was England, banging on it ferociously.

"America you bloody git! Come on were going to be late you dumb ass!" England scolded from the other side of the door.

_Late? _America pondered. _Late for what?_ But despite the questions that rung loudly in his head, America did not voice such questions out into open air. Instead, he stood, dumbfounded in what to do.

"Don't tell me you already forgot that you are hosting the World Meeting you idiot!"

_Oh... right._ America cleared his throat and yelled back in his "hero voice", "Pfft! Of coarse I didn't forget! How could the hero forget anything!?" So far so good.

"Sure. Just get ready already!" England shouted back. America heard subtle foot steps heading away from the door and America knew that England had left. He decided not to idol any longer. So, America perfected his smile and laugh and left for the World Conference.

~Later~

The conference was just like all the others. Noisy, and pointless. Nothing got done. It was the opposite. Now there were NEW problems. Germany once again took over in a last effort to salvage what was left of the hope for improving the world but lost it when the endless hours ended and the chime of the bell sounded the end of the meeting.

America left with everyone else, leaving a few people behind who idled to talk with one another without the weight and tension of the world on their shoulders. America sighed and got into his car. At the exact same moment the door clicked in place, there was yowl. America fumbled to get out of the car to get a better perspective on what was going on.

Greece and Turkey were fighting with Cyprus in between. Cyprus had already gotten hit a few times. The rest of the world circled them, watching in either awe, horror, amusement(Russia), or just plain boredom. A few chatted among themselves about what was happening while others placed bets on who would win the fight. America struggled to get to the front, but once he did and saw the damage inflicted between the three, he immediately rushed forward and pulled at Greece, trying to get him off of Turkey and Cyprus. Once he did, Cyprus immediately ran off into the crowd.

America's actions silenced the crowd around him. The watched attentively as America struggled to keep a firm grip on Greece to keep him from shooting back over to Turkey. America saw Turkey make a move for the captured Greece and America spotted England in the crowd.

"ARTHUR!" he shouted, indicating to the Englishman to confine Turkey.

As England rushed over to Turkey and tackled him, the rest murmured in shock, knowing America never called England Arthur unless in grave circumstances.

"I got him!" England informed the American. The Englishman sat on the Turk's back, holding his arms behind him, locking him in place.

Once seeing the Turk firmly in place America said to him, while still keeping a tight grip on the Greek. "I don't care if you two get into petty fights but don't pull Cyprus into it! He did nothing!" He took a deep breath. "Now, go fight in your own countries!" And with that, the American tossed Greece over to his car and watched as he got in and sped away from the scene. Once Greece left, England got off Turkey and watched as he left for his car. America sighed and walked back to his car.

America's eye's widened as he saw a short man with brown hair and green eyes standing by his car, tapping his foot as if waiting for something or someone. Upon further inspection, America saw that the man was in fact, Cyprus.

Cyprus's head snapped over to America once he heard him walking over to the car. He smiled a bit and walked up to him, looking up to him.

"Thanks America! For getting me out of there I mean." Cyprus added at the end. This made the blond smile and replied with the all familiar phrase.

"Of course dude! What kind of hero would I be?"

This made Cyprus chuckle slightly. "I do have to say, you play the hero quite well!" And with that, the island country ran off to his car, dodging the rest of the departing countries.

America was frozen in place. He never believed he was a hero. We had already stated that. But what Cyprus had said changed his mind. He smiled and looked back to his car. He climbed in and revved the engine. He looked out the window and smiled. He drove up to his house, thinking about what Cyprus had said.

_So what if I wasn't a hero in the past. All heroes make mistakes. And I'm no different. There are times where I can be the hero, and where I can't, and I'll have to live with that. I guess all that matters is that I be the hero everyone needs, when they need it. And let others be my hero when something becomes too big for me to handle. Like the Avengers._

America chuckled as he reached his house. He entered the house and lied down in his bed. His last thoughts were calming ones.

_I guess everyone is a hero in their own way. Even a fraud like me._

**A/N: Well this is it! I hoped you liked it! I'm sorry if anyone was out of character.**

**Now, all you have to do is wait for the seaquail, "A Secret Alliance"**

**Good day and Good night!**


	5. Sequel Update!

**A/N: Hey guys! I got the first chapter of _A Secret Alliance _writen so here be the preview!**

Italy ran through the day with the same struggle. It was the G8 Meeting in Russia. For some reason, his smile was weakened. It wasn't as life filled as the other days. It seemed more, plastic. Italy looked outside. He was in a large room with an oval, pine table and 8 pine chairs surrounding it. Russia, Italy, Germany, England, Japan, America, France, and China sat on the velvet cushions that rested on the dark wood. As dull hazel eye's stared blankly at the serene, swirling snow outside, the G8 Meeting rattled on behind the Italians back. No one seemed to notice Italy's lack of enthusiasm today. Or so the short, olive skinned boy thought.

**So, I should have that up very soon! Like in 3 mins after I post this!**


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